


He Called Me Beautiful

by Terene



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-09
Updated: 2009-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terene/pseuds/Terene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A jaded, alone, and hungry Yumichika encounters a hotheaded, katana-wielding stranger with a surprising sense of chivalry, and that one brief meeting may make all the difference for them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Called Me Beautiful

He called me beautiful. Right then, somewhere deep within me, I knew I would love him. Since then, I've become somewhat obsessed with beauty, have become rather vain. Insufferably so, in fact—I freely admit that. I flaunt my looks and tease others about theirs. I even get on his nerves with my preoccupation sometimes, but I'm never going back to how I was.

He gave me back my pride.

 

I lived in a rough area of Rukongai, and I had nobody, not even any close friends. I wasn't too suited for manual labor, and other work was scarce. But I was hungry, and, therefore, desperate. Nobody had ever bothered to tell me that that meant I had latent powers, or I might have enrolled in the Academy much earlier. I just knew I was hungry.

I had one thing going for me then: my looks. You can guess what kind of work they brought me. I hated them for that, and I blamed my loneliness on them, too.

As a child my looks had sometimes worked to my advantage, and I was proud of them then, despite the occasional bullying I got from the tougher boys. "What a pretty little boy," the women would say, and they would give me things—candy and other goodies. I got by that way without having to resort to stealing very often, unlike most of the other children who felt hunger as I did.

But now that I was grown, I found my looks only distanced me from others. Women resented me, because I was more beautiful than half of them. Men either laughed at me or leered at me.

 

I was in the local bar that night, a filthy place of dubious reputation, but the best place to be for my kind of work. I was always there, or else in some seedy, half-lit room, wishing I was elsewhere.

A man was making a pass at me, had me backed into a corner. I was used to this, but it still made me a little nervous, especially when the guy was much bigger than me. He was an ugly brute, dark and unshaven, and he reeked of sweat and smoke. I hated him. He had his knee wedged between my legs, and I was talking fast, trying to cool him off and convince him to pay my price and take me to a room. I didn't care to be raped right then and there.

The man was getting more aggressive, and I was beginning to wish for a way out. I could deal with hunger for one more day, and the night wasn't over yet, anyway. I cut my eyes to the right and to the left, and that's when he came in.

He had a bald head, a grubby appearance, a katana at his hip, enough attitude for ten people, and a psychotic grin that stretched far beyond his cheeks. The room quieted a little for a few moments. He had that effect on people.

I didn't give him much thought, except to think that his appearance was odd, because I had my own problem to deal with at the moment. He glanced my way, however, and our eyes met. He must have read desperation in them, because he walked straight over to me.

Roughly he grabbed the arm of my 'admirer.' The newcomer wasn't as big as the man who had me cornered, but I wasn't really concerned for him because he had such a threatening air and carried that katana. Nevertheless, I kind of resented being rescued, like the proverbial damsel in distress. I am NOT a damsel.

"Hey, asshole, this guy here's too beautiful for someone with an ugly face like yours." He cocked his head and grinned even wider, in direct defiance of the laws of physics. "Go find someone more your type, like a wild boar."

I might have laughed at that last line, but I was too preoccupied with something else he had said.

Beautiful. No one had ever called me that and meant it—and meant nothing else by it—before. He said it so casually, as if it were an obvious fact. He wasn't making fun of my rather feminine appearance, he wasn't trying to come on to me, and he wasn't voicing his disgust at my line of work. I was staggered and pleased beyond measure. I nearly missed what happened next.

My would-be customer was livid, huffing and puffing, trying to overcome the alcohol in his system to come up with a good retort. He settled for a simple threat in the end. "Nobody talks to me like that, you son-of-a-bitch! I'll tear you apart!" He lunged for Baldy, who easily dodged.

"I was hoping you'd say that!" my bloodthirsty savior laughed, with a gleeful look in his eyes, like a predator cornering his prey. "Why don't we take this outside? How do you want to settle it: fists or steel?"

"My own fists'll be enough to beat a shrimp like you to a pulp."

"Your funeral," Baldy shrugged, and he unbelted his katana and tossed it to me.

I scowled at him in an attempt to discourage him from fighting for my sake. He just threw a jaunty salute in my direction, which would have made me want to kick him had I not still been in the clouds, floating on that one word. Beautiful. I hazily followed them outside.

It was a short fight. In the end, the Big Bad Wolf slunk away, sniveling, with a few less fangs, a broken snout, and a dislocated shoulder. Baldy got off with one long scratch on his left arm and a couple bruises. He was grinning again, smugly, when he strode over to me.

"Why did you do that?" I demanded, trying to sound angry.

"A simple 'thank you' would suffice," he said, clearly annoyed. "Or did you really want to go to bed with that gorilla?"

"Of course not," I said, looking away. "He was horrible. But I would like to eat, and food costs money."

"Then I'll buy you something to eat. I get hungry too."

"Don't bother," I responded dully, disillusioned by his offer. "Just pay me my fee and let's get this over with."

"Huh?" He scratched his shiny head and looked completely puzzled. As I had surmised, he was a bit slow.

I sighed. "That's what you want, isn't it? Don't worry, I don't charge much."

"Damn, you're one impossible piece of work. Just come on." He grabbed my arm and headed swiftly down the shadowed street, with me shuffling to keep up, protesting the whole way.

 

True to his word, he took me to eat right away, at the only restaurant in town. It was hardly an elegant place, and the food wasn't that great, but that didn't really matter since it had a monopoly on the market. In a place where most don't need to eat and can't afford a luxury like food anyway, there wasn't much of a demand for restaurants. But my companion was like me: one of those few who needed food to survive.

We shared some casual conversation over dinner—nothing of consequence, really. He didn't have much to say about his history, and I had nothing to say of my own. The only significant fact about me he already knew. All I really learned of him was that he traveled from town to town, looking for people to fight. That was how he survived. His mainstay was violence, mine was sex. Quite a pair we made.

I discovered that when he wasn't grinning maniacally, he had this permanent expression on his face that made him look like he was pissed off at the world. Maybe he was. We had that much in common, at least.

 

When I discovered that he had just arrived in town and had nowhere to stay, I offered to put him up for the night. He accepted, so I took him to my own shabby little two-roomed residence. I don't know why. I never took my clients there, preferring to preserve it as my sanctuary. I guess he wasn't precisely a client, but it's not like I knew him any better than any of the men who paid to sleep with me.

When we got in, we sat there uncomfortably. I didn't really know what to do. Most of my interactions with people in those days were very purposeful, with one object. Finally he spoke.

"Hey, what's your name? I didn't ask you before."

"Ayasegawa Yumichika. Yours?"

"Madarame Ikkaku."

We looked at each other kind of awkwardly. It was a bit belated to say "nice to meet you."

Finally I broke the silence. "Hey, Madarame-san, I guess I was a little rude back there. I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's no big deal."

"You've been very nice to me. I really am grateful. Won't you let me repay you?"

He looked at me with a surprisingly serious look on his face. "You mean by letting me have sex with you?"

"I don't have anything else," I said, shrugging. Looking back, my reasoning was definitely flawed, but that was my way of life then.

"Damn, you really are one vain piece of work, aren't you? What makes you so damned positive I even want to sleep with you?"

"Nothing. But I'm sure I could please you. I'll pay you back well."

"You've more than paid for the dinner by letting me stay here tonight, Ayasegawa-san."

"But I still owe you for earlier."

He stared at me for a minute, thinking hard. "Okay," he said finally, "but only if you really want to do it with me."

I guess this was his idea of principles. I didn't encounter principles of any sort very often. I found it kind of cute, and realized I wouldn't really mind sleeping with him. After a moment, I answered, "I do want to, Madarame-san…"

"Ikkaku."

This surprised me. "What?"

"If you like me well enough to have sex with me, then you're going to call me Ikkaku."

Cocky bastard, giving me orders. But for reasons unknown to me, I did like him well enough. Well, mostly unknown—there was that word. Beautiful. "All right, then, Ikkaku. In that case, I'm Yumichika."

"Yumichika," he said, giving me that stupid grin again, and he promptly pulled me over to my bed-mat, pushed me roughly down, and kissed me. He was a clumsy kisser.

I had him out of his yukata before he had even noticed. He undressed me with a little less grace. He was hard already. I smirked a little. I could tell right away he had basically no experience at this.

He continued his clumsy kissing with admirable passion and far less skill, and he stroked my body as one might rub lotion on oneself, only without the lotion—not the most pleasant feeling in the world, but I had to give him credit for the effort. I'd been with men who had made no attempt whatsoever at foreplay. Despite his lack of skill, I was actually beginning to feel somewhat aroused.

"How do you want it?" he asked a minute later, panting already.

"Not so fast, big boy," I teased, slipping away to fumble in my discarded garments for a little vial of oil I had tucked away there. I tossed it to him, and he caught it easily. He had surprisingly good reflexes. "I'd prefer not to bleed, if I can avoid it."

"Oh, you want me to…" His voice trailed off as he pointed in the general direction of my ass and made vague gestures.

Laughing at his awkwardness, I said, "That, or put some on yourself." He opted for the latter. I smirked again.

"How'd you say you wanted it?" he questioned again when he had finished.

I didn't get asked this often, and it pleased me that he was trying to be considerate of me. I thought a moment. I didn't want it from behind; I wanted to see him. He wasn't precisely attractive, but I realized he was the first person I had ever actually wanted to have sex with. I felt that watching him while we did it was important. I wanted to see his face—it made me smile, at least.

"Like this," I said at last, lying down. He was conveniently sitting back on his haunches. "Here, take my legs." I directed his hands to grip behind my knees. I hooked my heels over his shoulders. "Now, lift me a little, pull me closer, and then do it."

He followed my directions, and then that glossy-headed blockhead drove straight into me. I yelled in pain. "A little slower would have been nice, idiot!"

"Sorry," he said, furrowing his eyebrows in a look of comical concern.

"Just take it easy," I pleaded. He nodded and started thrusting very timidly.

After a minute he spoke, apparently having gotten the hang of things sufficiently to allow for speech. "You lied to me earlier."

"What are you talking about?"

"You said it wouldn't cost me much, but this is costing me everything."

"I don't understand. I'm doing this for free. Are you trying to say you want to stop?"

"I'm trying to say that I just met you, but you already own me."

I wanted to laugh. I hadn't thought him capable of such lines. "I do?" I asked instead.

"Yeah. And tomorrow you're coming with me, and I'm gonna take care of you. You got it?"

"I can take care of myself."

"Like you've been doing."

Silence. I really didn't have a response, and that shamed me.

"A beautiful guy like you shouldn't have to sell his body to men who disgust him. Promise me you won't even look at someone you think is ugly again."

Beautiful. There was that word again. It was intoxicating, impossible to combat. I fumbled for a good retort.

"What if I said I think you're ugly?"

"I'd beat the shit out of you until you changed your mind," he said immediately, and he grinned at me again, the same absurd grin that made me wonder if he had all his marbles. It didn't do anything for his looks, but it made me want to smile, too.

I had to laugh at that ridiculous threat. He had absolutely no sense of timing, no refinement. But in those days, I wasn't exactly one to talk.

"You're terrible at this," I accused, changing the subject in my favor. He really was, too; he might as well have been masturbating. "This is your first time, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he said simply.

"Wow, a tough, arrogant guy like you admits that? I'm impressed."

"Shut the hell up."

I had no intentions of shutting up. "Need me to tell you what to do next?"

"I can figure it out."

"You've done a hell of a job so far," I gasped in as sarcastic a tone as I could muster, wincing because he was now pounding into me with newfound confidence, like he was tenderizing meat. "Don't hold me like I'm a sack of potatoes. And try doing this," I added, grabbing one of his hands and wrapping it around my thus-far-neglected member. He caught on to that quickly, at least.

The conversation lulled for a minute or two then, as speaking became more difficult for us both. He moved his other hand from my leg and cradled my torso with that arm, lifting me and pulling me toward him. A little more effort, a slight improvement. He was really thinking hard about this. Letting my legs slip off his shoulders, I dug my toes into the bed-mat on either side of him. I twined my arms around his neck and tipped my head back, enjoying the weight of my long hair as it swung free. He caught some of my hair in his hand and ran his fingers languorously through it before finally relocating his hand to my waist. I felt his lips against the hollow of my throat.

He continued his stimulation of my member, rubbing its tip in a circular motion with his thumb, smearing my own moisture along its length. Apparently he was no stranger to touching himself, at least, because even I had to admit he knew how to give a decent hand-job. My breathing was beginning to become ragged; I was inadvertently emitting little sounds of pleasure. Hearing myself didn't make me feel ashamed or embarrassed for once, I was pleased to discover. I was actually enjoying this, both physically and emotionally, and I marveled that this guy was the cause.

Whatever he was trying to do inside me still left something to be desired, though. Suddenly he thrust into me at such an angle that I cried out in pain again. "You really are terrible," I complained once more, almost in tears. In a near whisper I added, impulsively but sincerely, "And I think I love you for it."

Wait. What had I just said?

That knowledge, the truth of my own words, came to me as a delayed reaction, like an epiphany. My breath caught in my throat.

"You love me?" he asked incredulously, pausing his movement.

"You're the first person to really give a shit about me, so yeah, I think I do. And, well…" I hesitated, then finished more softly, "you called me beautiful."

"Hey, you are beautiful. But don't you get that all the time?"

"Not like you said it."

"Then I'm gonna keep saying it until you're more convinced of it than you are that your name is Ayasegawa Yumichika. And you know what else I'm gonna do?"

"What?" I asked, giddy with happiness and trying not to show it.

"I'm gonna teach you to fight." There was that grin again. "Someone like you needs to know how to protect himself."

This was too much. "Why are you doing all this for me?"

"'Cause somewhere along the way, I think I fell in love with you too."

This whole conversation was unbelievable, ridiculous. We had known each other for only a couple hours. He got me out of a tight spot, he bought me dinner, and then we had a little conversation while we ate together. Somehow we ended up in bed together, and, of all things, it was not business but pleasure—well, figuratively speaking. Basically all he knew about me was that I was alone in life and that I worked as a prostitute when things got tight to keep myself from starving. All I knew about him was that he was a hotheaded idiot with a katana who happened to take pity on me. Yet somehow here we were, confessing our love to each other. Absurd!

Absurd, but then why was I so happy? Why was my sense of self soaring to heights I hadn't known in years, or, rather, had never known?

There was only one explanation: He really was crazy, as I had thought briefly when I first set eyes on him, and it was catching. We were both crazy.

My reflection on insanity was interrupted by his renewed movements. Somehow he had gotten a little better during our pause, which wasn't really saying much. But he was stroking me vigorously too, and I realized I wasn't going to last much longer, and judging by the sounds he was making, he wasn't either.

"Ikkaku…!" I cried out just as he called my name, and we came together, amazingly synchronized considering his inexperience. I normally hated it when someone came inside me, but this time I didn't really mind. It made me feel very warm, as if he was pouring his newfound love into me. Love. For the first time in my life, I was loved.

He pulled out and collapsed on top of me. I clung to him desperately, afraid I might wake up and find myself alone or else with some disgusting stranger.

"I really do love you," I said when I had regained the ability of speech, and I kissed him gently.

"Yeah, I love you too," he replied in a dreamy monotone.

"Was your first time good?"

"Yeah, sure was. Sorry I was so bad at it."

"It's all right. I'll be a little sore tomorrow, but I don't really mind."

"You'll just have to give me lots of opportunities to improve my skills."

I paused at this statement, narrowing my eyes as I considered the concept.

"What?" He gave me a funny look.

"I was just thinking about how nice it will be to keep doing it with the same person. I rarely have the same customer more than a couple times."

"Why's that?"

"Well, the most anyone's ever come back is four times. That particular guy… well, he wasn't as bad as most of my customers, and I was beginning to think he might actually have cared about me a little bit, since he'd sought me out that many times. But one day he came into the bar where I had stationed myself, and when I propositioned him he turned me down. He said that there was such a thing as too much of a good thing, that he was getting bored, and it was time to move on. That really hurt. I turned on my heels and started to walk out of there. He called after me, saying something like, 'Hey, Ayasegawa, don't be mad! It's nothing personal. You understand, right?' I ignored him and went straight home. It really made me feel like trash. I couldn't bring myself to even leave my rooms for a couple days. I just went hungry."

"Asshole," Ikkaku huffed.

"Seriously," I agreed, nodding solemnly.

"Well, you've got me now, so you won't have to deal with any of that crap anymore," he assured me.

"That guy holds the record. You're going to break it with me, right?"

"Absolutely."

"You're really going to take care of me like you said?" I had to hear it once more. It was still too fantastic.

"What, you don't believe me? Don't I have an honest face?"

"No," I answered truthfully. He scowled, and I laughed at him, eventually coaxing a smile out of him.

"And you'll really be here when I wake up tomorrow?" I continued questioning.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"And we'll make love like this again?"

"Whenever you want."

Right then was fine with me. Unable to hold back my joy and desire any longer, I pressed my lips to his in ecstasy.

In the end we passed my record in that one night, giving in to exhaustion just a little while before dawn. His skills had improved considerably by the end, but that wouldn't save me from being sore for days afterwards. But I couldn't have cared less.

 

The next morning I awoke to bright sunlight and the feeling of a strange warmth against my back. I turned over and nearly jumped out of my skin when I came nose-to-nose with Ikkaku. He was laughing at me.

"Morning, beautiful," he said, and he grinned.


End file.
